


Time After Time

by Ayes



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, Other, Romy and Michele, San Francisco, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: Songfic based on "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper, inspired by the San Francisco live performance "Trixie and Katya's High School Reunion."Genders flip around, but tend toward feminine for Katya, irregardless of their being in drag.





	Time After Time

_Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick and think of you_  
_Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new_  
_Flashback, warm nights_  
_Almost left behind_  
_Suitcase of memories_  
_Time after_  
  
Katya laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Not _her_ bed, of course. Another stale-aired hotel, another toilet sealed with a paper strip and another set of pimpled concierge girls giggling at Katya's bedraggled return. She was on day two of a three day gig — day three, really, if you counted early morning, though it was impossible to tell the time through the heavy curtains and the low buzz of infomercials on TV. It might have been seven already, uninspiring breakfast already set up somewhere downstairs, but Katya didn't move a muscle.  
  
She'd finished her show at 1:30, stayed at the club through last call to finish chatting with the other queens and the promoter, and been in bed at the crazy-early-in-drag-hours time of two AM. And despite the drag of her muscles and the soothing grey light of the room, she hadn't been able to sleep.  
  
Her cell phone loomed from where she had set it on her suitcase to charge. There was an occasional blink or flash of light, which made her itch to check it. Sometimes, late at night like this, she'd find comfort in talking to the camera, using Instagram Live as her own personal confessional. Tonight none of her thoughts bore sharing.  
  
And she was afraid that the message was from Trixie.  
  
_sometimes you picture me_  
_I'm walkin' too far ahead_  
_You're callin' to me, I can't hear what you've said_  
_Then you say, "go slow"_  
_I fall behind_  
_The second hand unwinds_  
  
Trixie finished her workout and reached for her water bottle — a pink Trixie bottle, of course.  
  
Behind her, she could hear one of the WeHo gays that unwittingly helped made her famous, gushing to his friend about some organic berry farmer at the Palisades farmer's market. _Oh honey_ , she supplied mentally for him, "-those blackberries-" _honey I'd love a black bear honey ..._  
  
A quick shower later she was on the blazing hot sidewalk, in ratty gym shorts, sunglasses, and a backwards cap, as well as her least conspicuous sleeveless Trixie shirt. It was as close as she got to undercover. 

She had to use her phone to call an Uber, and she took a deep breath to brace herself. Three notifications. 

Still holding the breath, she scrolled through. Kim. Mom. A notification that her credit card payment had posted.

Nothing from Katya.

  
_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting_  
_Time after time_  
_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting_  
_Time after time_

San Francisco. Katya thinks it's funny how she and Trixie keep meeting in different cities, a metaphor somehow. They're everywhere together, but nowhere on the same page. Trixie gave her some spiel last time about not shitting where you eat, but it hadn't stopped them from another exchange of sweet, hot kisses. 

Apparently they're ignoring each other again ( _being professional_ , Trixie calls it, whatever the fuck that is. Katya has done so many bad things in her life that this, fucking a coworker, dating a business partner… it barely registers on the scale.

But for Trixie it's important. And what Trixie wants is important. That much Katya knows for sure.

San Francisco is rehearsals and singing and sweating through yoga pants. It's gleeful and exhausting and strains her throat. She smokes cigarettes in the alley while Trixie takes selfies for Instagram, watching people walk by through the chain link fence that separates them from the sidewalk. They feel closer than Trixie.

Katya sighs and Trixie cocks her head toward her. “What, Kat?”

“Nothing, my darling,” Katya answers, injecting her response with drama. She heaves a labored sigh, all anguish and acting. “Трахни меня?”

“Whatever you just said, no.” Trixie surprises her by reaching for the cigarette, but when she hands it over, Trixie just drops it and puts it out under her foot. “Are you okay”

Katya pushes their foreheads together. Today Trixie is really just Brian, his shining, beautiful face plain and free. Katya is Brian too, but for him that means bare cheekbones, bags under the eyes. “I'll be okay. I just went and caught feelings is all.”

“Fuck my pussy with a rake, mom,” Trixie teases softly, not moving back. “Is that all?”

Oh right, Trixie loves feelings. Katya isn't too sure they're helpful, herself. Especially not now.

 _After my picture fades and darkness has turned to gray_  
_Watching through windows, you're wondering if I'm okay_  
_Secrets stolen_  
_From deep inside_ _  
The drum beats out of time_

They’re staying in an apartment that Peaches owns and AirBnB’s out to other drag queens for cheap. The fridge is covered in photos of their fellow freaks, past performers like Heklina to Cookie Dough, the local queens who slay the Golden Girls Christmas every year. There’s a fire escape outside a small living room with bay windows. It's visible at the end of a railroad hall, studded with the doors to bedrooms and bathrooms.

It’s cute, overall, homey. The lights look over the Castro in one direction, the Mission in the other, and a rainbow flag can be seen on the neighboring roof. It’s a visual cue that helps Trixie relax here, feel she’s in a safe space to create. She’ll always love Wisconsin, but you can’t say that San Francisco doesn’t have its charms. 

Trixie has her guitar on her lap where she sits in the window frame, as much to have a barrier before her body as to play music. Still, she strums, kicking her legs a little in the breeze. She’s wearing gym shorts and high heels, a sleeveless tank, a backwards cap. On the fire escape, Katya…

Katya looks like an angel.

Though she’s dressed all in black, and her eyeliner is smudged, her wig not glued down and flopping dangerously with each tilt of her head as she smokes perched on the railing. People walk by underneath her without a second glance upward, despite the shocking short length of Katya’s dress. 

“Would you live here?” Trixie hears herself asking. Katya, who has been ranting on and off about how the creation of cameras was based on a racist paradigm, interrupts herself with a hacking cough.

“Here, милый? Not LA?” 

“No, not LA.”

“Things would have to be pretty different to be able to leave LA. Or to want to,” Katya answered easily, referring to their careers. Trixie shrugged. It was true. They could live somewhere else if they didn’t have their shows, their bookings, World of Wonder. But maybe without all those things, their relationship would have room to change. _Or to want to_. She imagined the two of them running off, still traveling when they wanted to, still on the scene when they wanted to be. Trixie had spent so many years now chasing fame at a flat run, she didn’t know if she could stop. She might find, upon stopping, that she couldn’t catch up again.

And yet she’d come so far. And with Katya. Maybe there was nothing wrong with staying where they were, enjoying the view. It was pretty beautiful from here.

Trixie strummed the chords, finding G.

  
_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting_ _  
Time after time_

Later it seemed inevitable that they would climb into bed together, laptop playing Netflix between them. Drag Race isn’t on Netflix and neither (unfortunately) is Contact, so they watch American Horror Story with the sound down low.

 “I’m gaga for Gage,” Trixie said, over-dramatic as always.

“Original, bitch. Did you see—” 

“ _F_ _ive Foot Two_? Of course!” Trixie launched into an impersonation — her impersonations were always more Trixie than the person being impersonated, of course, but that was branding, darling. 

Katya snuggled up, holding Trixie’s arm like it was a teddy bear. Sometimes Trixie let her closer than other times: tonight seemed like one of them, but she wasn’t going to push it. Not before the end of the episode, anyway.

They play Fashion Ruview with the outfits for a while and Trixie retells her set stories with relish, though Katya’s heard them a dozen times before. Finally Netlix asks if they’re still there, and Trixie rolls her shoulders out with a sigh. “It’s probably super late.” 

“I’m sure it is. And tomorrow, darling, our call time is quite early.” Katya had put on her best old-timey voice for that one, imagining the furs and Marlene Dietrich hair she’d use to round it out. She relinquished Trixie’s arm, giving it a waggle before freeing it completely. “There you go, off to slumberland.” 

“Ugh, you’re like a fairy gaymother. Fairy g- Fairy hogmother.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Katya mocks back, their back and forth a teasing thing that’s always bobbed happily between them, a balloon lighter than air.

Trixie rolls her eyes and kicks a little, but Katya can tell she’s happy. It’s been a productive day, and they’ve been together. Nothing better than that.

It’s not a surprise when Trixie kisses her, but it is a surprise when she lets Katya’s tongue swipe into her mouth. They’re not even drunk. Katya sits up a little, turns into Trixie, her body coming slowly and carefully toward her. Trixie flips her palms up and Katya wraps her fingers around Trixie’s forearms, gently. It’s a cautious grasp. Katya knows it could so easily be broken — will be broken, in a minute.

It’s never gone this far before.

Trixie is reaching down, breaking Katya’s grasp on her, when Katya breaks. This is the line that has never been crossed, and she never thought it would be Trixie toeing across it first. “Trix?”

Trixie shrugs. Her eyes look a little wistful, but the twist of her mouth says determination. It’s dark, but Katya knows that face too well to mistake its expressions in anything but pitch black. Not for the first time, she reflects on just how beautiful Brian Firkus is. He’s painfully youthful, with centuries in his eyes, an ancient pedigree in his browbone. Katya kisses him again, and gives into what she wants.

Has wanted.

  
_You said, "go slow"_  
_I fall behind_ _  
The second hand unwinds_

The show goes swimmingly, of course. Not flawlessly — there’s one moment, toward the middle, where Katya breaks character with a snort and Trixie tips her head back, deliriously giggling. The crowd laughs along, and it feels like the world laughs along, like everyone’s in on it and as giddy as she is.

She’s never been one to have sex right away, and she wouldn’t call their friendship the same as her usual three-month dating warmup, it’s still years of almosts and wanted-tos. Last night had been so easy, it felt like an invisible weight had lifted, replaced with _what were you afraid of_ s. Of course it had been. Everything with them was easy. Natural. Invigorating.  

Damn near perfect.

Then Romy and Michele are at the reunion, and it’s time for their dance number, and it’s like flying, spinning around the stage wearing super-serious faces and shining little dresses. It feels like another piece of last night, just Trixie and Katya, the way it should be.

Trixie doesn’t know what she was so worried about.

  
_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting_ _  
Time after time_

It’s weird how sex can feel like falling in love. Katya’s had her share of sex of course, a few people’s shares… a whole town full of horny people’s shares. Fine.

That doesn't mean she knows anything. Not here. The last time Katya was in love was years ago, and this already feels more important than that had, more real. Like she's on the verge of pinning Trixie down in her arms and keeping her forever.

She knows it means something when Trixie gives herself to someone, so she moves slowly, worshipfully. Trixie — Brian — is breathing through his mouth, harsh and fast. His eyes are wide open.

Katya kisses him, cups his dick with a firm hand. Brian looks stunned, and Katya makes a mental note that there _is_ one way to shut up Trixie Mattel.

After that it's mouths and hands, careful tongues and gripping fingers. The sheets untuck from the bed. Brian's panting gets harsher. Finally, they're moving together, saliva and sweat turning everything salty and tension growing toward something Katya couldn't help but brace against.

When it carries them away, Katya’ drift and spins in its wake.

  
_If you're lost, you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting_ _  
Time after time_

It’s not as easy as it seemed like it would be, of course. Sometimes Katya smokes and rants and smokes and rants until even Trixie tells her to shut up, and she always wants to have sex when Trixie’s trying to work on her music, and for some reason Katya doesn’t like it when Trixie is free-associating words to make puns while cooking dinner ( _Greek salad honey? I’ll toss that salad honey, something about going Greek huh-ney_ ).

But it’s still pretty easy, actually.

They film their show, they go home. Trixie moves in with Katya and forces her to clean the place up. Katya throws away eight Whole Foods bags full of Russian fashion and gossip magazines, clears strange things out of her refrigerator. Trixie brings sixteen wigs, four guitars, two autoharps, one banjo and a ukelele. Four times as much drag as boy clothes. A poster of Dolly Parton. They squabble over closet space and eventually turn the spare bedroom into a walk-in closet: one half pink, the other total chaos.

Sometimes they take a long weekend and go to San Francisco. Every now and then they watch Romy and Michele with the sound off and over-act their lines.

Trixie wonders why she waited, if the rest of her life could be like this. Katya dances around a lot, singing on and off, thinking through her next devious machination. As Trixie watches this humming, buzzing whirlwind, Katya opens her arms.

She falls into them. And around and around they go.

  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_  
_Time after time_ _  
Time after time_


End file.
